A vague face, a vague everything back then
by LittleDarkDevil13
Summary: He was silent, that night (Nishiki/Kimi/)


**I was reading that one chapter in the manga where Nishiki talks about seeing Kimi one last time and well… This came off of it, it's probably a bit OOC, and well, It' was written on a coffee rush after getting a bit drunk earlier today, so I hope it isn't that weird. Title is… I don't really know, it just popped into my head.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**A vague face, a vague everything back then**

He doesn't speak that night.

Not much at least

Every news channel is broadcasting the events in the 20th ward, making a fuss over them, stressing over every crumb they can tear from the injured and some CCG higher ups.

Or so I believe, I turned the Tv set off two hours ago –Actually, I disconnected it, and little stopped me from trashing the whole thing – my phone too, and the lights in the apartment, and pretty much everything electronic around me, here everything's quiet, so the battle may well be over.

I do not want to know, or maybe I do.

But I'm scared to death of both things, so I just lay here, frozen one my bed, feeling like I'll go mad when another minute passes and I know nothing of him.

The scar on my shoulder throbs.

It's imaginary pain of course, it healed ages ago.

When my front door clicks open I don't move, I'm still terrified –it might not be him, it might be someone coming to take me away, one side, or the other, dragging me to my death. Or it might be him, dying, or someone bearing news of him, dead- Only the familiar footsteps make my heart start up again, and my limbs feel like some of the ice encasing them has melted.

And when he enters my room the smell too, it soothes me –citrus, rain, and a metallic tang that never ever leaves his skin- and it's not outright blood this time, so I guess he managed to give them the slip.

He's silent as he lies down next to me, his skin radiates heat on mine, and I want nothing more than just getting rid of all our clothes and laying here with him wrapped all around me.

My gaze meets his, and for all that it's worth –and unlike half the time- I can read him completely.

Wordlessly, my hand slips up his arm until my fingers graze his cheek.

Both our eyes are wet.

The rustle of my old lavender sheets is the same as it has always been, and his smell, and the lips that press against mine, the hands on my hair, the teeth on my neck, the feverish spikes that run through me when his fingers slip below my dress.

He makes a sort of strangled sound when I dig my nails into his back, this is really the only times when I can see those reactions, from the beginning, he's always been so cold.

Everything's rough somehow, desperate, even I find myself nearly ripping off the buttons on his shirt, and by the time he gets inpatient enough, my pantyhose is more fitting as a trashy Halloween costume than daily wear.

But we don't stop, not for that. He bites my shoulder as he enters me, softly, just over the scar. And I know what is now a constant that I don't even have to think about to have it in the back on my mind.

There are no regrets in me and if he needed it again I'd gladly let him take what already belongs to him, in all ways that it can. For all that its worth, I know that if it ever happens I'll still have his heart and his mind, even more so than now.

My nails dig into his flesh, and blood seeps out, he doesn't notice –he never has- and I won't ever have his blood under them after this night, it's unfair. I want more moments with him, like this or however, just seeing him would be fine. My sun, for all of his abrasive nature, I'd have long turned bleak and barren if not for him.

His warmth fills me, and we're both gasping for breath, he sits up on the side of the bed, his back is facing me and I get his intentions –a clean break, as if- our clothes aren't even fully off, the room is rapidly turning cold and this is ridiculous because I'm not saying goodbye like this, I refuse to.

I'm not a brave person.

But as I tug off his shirt –My scratches are already healing, the proof of me on him will be gone by morning- I know that I'd go to prison for this man. For the one that trembles when I manage to slip it off, the one whose tears aren't dry by the time I climb into his lap.

He looks at me like I'm the last thing in the world he wants to see and the only thing he can't live without –maybe I am, we're both the others but we still were alone first- and his hands find the clasp of my bra as he pushes his face into my collarbone with a sound that's more a sob than a groan.

I coax him up gently and get rid of his pants, his underwear and his socks, he in turn pulls the remains of my pantyhose off of my calves.

Nishiki's gorgeous, right now, a marble figure, staring at me with eyes that try to imitate a statue's emotionless composure and fail miserably.

"Kimi" one of his hands is tracing up and down my middle, from my ribcage to my naked hip. He sounds like he has something he needs to say

My lips purse and my words come out like choked gasps "… I know"

"I don't want to" I know that too, I can tell, he's given me all of his selflessness, and I know it, he might whine now, but he's told me that if it ever came to this he'd leave to protect me.

He's told me that between these very sheets, in broken whispers pressed against the scar on my shoulder, so as to keep it a secret how much he cares, even from himself. When it counts, he'll always choose me over his pride, when it doesn't we can both pretend that it's bigger than anything else, he can't ever fool me though –just as I can't fool him, really- love is like that –especially when it's mutual, such a presence that I've feared it'd become tangible at a point-.

"…You will, anyway" There's bitterness in my tone –don't leave don'tleavedon'tleavedon'tleavedon't- and he smiles wryly, the skin around his eyes wrinkles slightly, and I swear that he just took my breath away forever.

Both of his hands are on my hips now, he sits on the edge of the bed and slides me on his lap. My words are bitten out of my mouth, his kisses are as rough as they are slow, and my fingers work gently at his back, soothing the stiff muscles and the nearly healed skin.

When we stop kissing, he lays me on the bed, as delicately as he can and starts peppering kisses down my bare torso.

He takes it slow this time, exploring and committing everything to memory, as though this is the first time we do this –even if his touch is engraved in my skin deeper than his kagune could ever hope to pierce- His hands tremble, and it's such an uncharacteristic thing that I nearly cry or lugh, or go crazy on him –I kiss him instead.

I too, pin him down with whatever weight I have and let myself wander, just touch, feel lick, bite all over and watch him tremble, just do everything I've ever dreamed in those odd hours when he's away and I'm aching to see him and afraid for his life –and fear the beautiful monsters that I sometimes wish to be, if only to try and not be his weakness-.

When we're done, the police lights shining in the distance of the 20th are gone, and the night is even quieter without even the buzz of cars to break the silence.

Dawn is peeking over the horizon.

He lies next to me, wrapped all around me, and he smells like rain and citrus and that slight metallic tang of blood that makes his smell unique and intoxicating.

He whispers that he loves me into my hair "But when you wake up you will have never met me" And then I do cry and he bites his lip hard enough to bleed.

I tell him that I love him too, I tell him that he doesn't have to go, I know it's useless, but not trying…

I'd rather follow things through to the bitter end.

Nishiki falls asleep first, my eyes trace over his face memorizing, etching him even deeper inside me.

My eyelids close then, heavy, and my body relaxes into the mattress, into his arms, even more.

Physically, I'm exhausted, the bliss from our love making hasn't faded, and my bones feel like they are made of the softest thing imaginable. Physically I want nothing more than to sink into unconsciousness.

Mentally, I'm sad, terribly sad and a bit mad, but I'm also exhausted, even though, I never want to fall asleep, so that each time he tries to leave I can catch him, just once more, one more kiss, a few more minutes. And if I ask, I know he can't deny me, not in the moment, with our eyes meeting in that way that's just ours.

Eventually, when there are already golden rays spilling over the two of us, I float down into unconsciousness.

.

.

When I wake up, I'm naked as a jaybird, and the bed has been cold for a while.

He left his jacket.

But Nishiki is nowhere to be found.

**So, how was that?**


End file.
